I Love My Man (Nicole's Erotic Romance) (2 page)

“I wasn’t doing that. I…”

She doesn’t ease up, not even a little bit.
“And you can’t say you love Nicole and call yourself her friend, but then keep
happiness away from her, at the same time! That’s not how works! You have to
stop being so flipping selfish.”

“Flipping? You say
flipping
?”

She loses it, yelling, “Only when I’m being
nice!”

I suck my lips into my mouth, staring at
her, searching for something to argue with. Finally I snap at her, “You don’t
know that Mark would make her happy!”

Amber yells in my face, “ARE YOU KIDDING
ME?”

I throw an arm in the direction their cab
went. “No! I’m not kidding you! Maybe Michael will make her happy! You’re the
one who said she loved him.
You
said
it! And he left his wife, right?! Who does that?” Amber’s mouth opens and
closes like a fish’s gills. She’s stumped. “That’s right! They never leave
their wives! Maybe it’s Michael she’s supposed to be with. I’m not lying to
myself, Amb! I’m just…”

She interrupts. “Lying to yourself?”

I purse my lips into a tight line. “Oh
– forget it! I’m not taking this anymore!”

She calls after me as I hightail it up the
street, “Good! You go! Go figure out how you’re going to make this right! This
is on you Jessica! On YOU!!”

I throw my arm up out of New York habit, my
middle finger itching to fly up and tell her what I really think. But I yank my
arm back down with a grunt, steam pouring out of my head.

She loses her mind and screeches, “You’re
lucky you didn’t flip me off!”

That’s it. I spin around, speed-walking
backwards. “Oh? What would you do, bite my ankles??!!”

Her jaw drops and I spin back around,
storming off.

“Was that a short-joke? That was MEAN,
Jessica!! That was NOT nice!”

I’m pretty sure dolphins are searching for
her, hoping to make babies.

Tightening my coat against the chill and
wishing I didn’t wear this stupid skirt (no matter how cute it is, and it is
cute), I mentally chew on what’s happened, because seriously, Michael is not
what I expected at all. I guess I pictured a dirty, skinny artist-type holding
a bong, pontificating about Nietzsche and the fucked-up government. I did not
expect a hunky, dark and stormy, European God. I didn’t tell Amber this,
because she didn’t give me the dignified space to, but when I saw Michael and
Nicole together, when he told her he’d left his poor wife, I realized
something, and it hit me hard.

Nicole isn’t supposed to be with this guy.
She’s supposed to be with Mark.

That’s why I said over and over,
Oh my God
. Nicole is supposed to be
with Mark. It’s them together, with everyone else on the outside; the way it
always is when someone finds their soul mate. Just because I saw it as the
truth, doesn’t mean I don’t hate it, because I do. I really,
really
hate it. Now I know Mark came to
New York for Nicole and not for me. Somehow I intercepted him and if I hadn’t,
maybe he would have met her earlier. But wait – that doesn’t really
balance out, either. He put out a sex ad. He wasn’t exactly looking for true
love when he did that. But… let me think about this… if I hadn’t answered it,
maybe he would have gone out that night. Maybe he would have gone to get a
drink, run into Nicole, and BAM, happiness and magic kumquats floating through
the air. But then
I
wouldn’t have
begun to heal, and maybe I wouldn’t have met Chris! The thought of not meeting
Chris makes me ill, instantly.

Stop it, Jess. You’re making yourself crazy.

Some things are simply unfigureoutable. That
is so not a real word. Who cares? It should be one. It should be in the Urban
Dictionary with ‘this sucks big donkey balls’ as part of the definition.
Because it does. (I wonder if I know any writers who could put it in there?)

Just
accept it
,
they’re meant for each
other
. I repeat this to myself until it no longer sounds like words. And
soon I halt in the middle of the sidewalk, nearly causing the person who was
walking behind me to slam into me.

“Hey!”

“You shouldn’t have been following so close.”

“Screw you.”

“You first.”

She walks on, throwing another scathing
glance at me and spitting on the sidewalk as so many New Yorkers do.

If I knew Nicole was supposed to be with
Mark and not Michael, then why didn’t I scream and bang on that stupid cab and
make her get out of it! She’s going to fuck that guy. I have to stop her. Where
is my phone? I’ve got so much stuff in this bag, it’s gotta be in here
somewhere. Got it. Tapping my feet, standing off to the side, next to a
building, I hear it ring after ring. “C’mon Nicole, Answer!”

NICOLE

With my head still on Michael’s chest, I
stare at my phone. I don’t want to talk to her. I mute her persistency by
hitting the volume button on the side, staring at her name in the silence until
it finally disappears. My heart had jumped out of my chest when I heard the
ring. I’d hoped it was Mark. How weird is that, considering where I am, and who
I’m with? But I had hoped it anyway; that somehow he’d
felt
me make this choice and had reached out to stop me. He had the
dream about my painting… maybe he’s somehow connected to me, telepathically? I
sigh… wishing that were true. As the taxi speeds down narrow streets, I slide
my hand onto Michael’s ribcage and shut my eyes tight. My heart has become slow
hollow thuds, like a flat tire struggling to get to the shoulder of the road.
Stop me, Mark. Why aren’t you stopping me
?

Michael runs his fingers over mine until
gooseflesh sprouts all over me. There is no denying he still has an insane
effect on my body. I feel guilty about the moisture that’s been in my panties
since I was sitting in that booth looking into his eyes, smelling the spicy
musk of him, unable to resist loving it. I feel like I’m cheating. But that’s
ridiculous. Mark’s probably met someone already. Lord knows he met me quickly
enough after being dumped by Jess. The idea sizzles my brain flat.
Stop thinking about him. Think about
Michael.

“Michael?”

His fingers lightly trace mine. “Yeah?”

My voice breaks in the middle as I quietly
ask, “Are you going to turn me away again?” The second I hear myself, I wish
I’d kept quiet. I hate how insecure I sounded, how insecure I feel. Insecurity
used to be my daily state of being when we shared the studio together. I was
used to feeling off balance. It was normal for me. His talent so eclipsed my
own, I couldn’t help it. Does it now? My mind speeds to scan memories of my
recent work, organized in piles at home, some pieces framed already and waiting
to go on the gallery walls.

Am I as good as Michael now?

His arm tightens around me. “Will I turn you
away? No, Nic. Never again.” He looks out the window. If he were Mark, he
would’ve kissed the top of my head. The thought kills me.

I give a small nod, and close my eyes again.
Never again
. Those are intense words
and the truth is, they apply to everything that’s going on right now.
Never again
did I think I’d be with
Michael Benitez.
Never again
did I
think I’d set foot in his studio.

Never
again
will I be with Mark.

I move away from Michael to the edge of the
seat. He shifts his body around, surprised. Is the great Michael fidgeting
behind me because he’s unsure of what to do? The idea gives me satisfaction.
Welcome to my world. Now it’s your turn to
feel unsure.
My eyelashes flutter as I watch the world pass us by. We ride
in silence, separated by miles of resentment.

After awhile he says my name in that slow
way he does, drawing out the short, single syllable so that it sounds sensually
beautiful. “Nic.” He pauses, waits to say more. I wait too, my heart picking up
speed, but he doesn’t say anything else. Maybe he’s hoping for me to say
something and ease the silence. Is that what he used to do? Open a door and
wait for me to do all the walking through it? I can’t remember, so I stare at
the buildings blurring past, and say nothing. This doesn’t feel right, being
with him. I should be excited, but I’m angry. Not just a little angry, but down
and dirty
livid.

The taxi stops in front of his studio door.
I stare at it. I haven’t been here since that night. My old paintings are
inside. I can’t imagine looking at them. They’d seem like children’s finger
paintings to me now. The door has a new scuffmark on it. I wonder where that
came from? I’ve memorized that door. Staring at it on all those nights I was
obsessed and infatuated. The bastard didn’t even know how much I loved him
then. How much I lived for a look from him, and a bit of praise for my art. How
much just being around his talent made me feel honored and special.

The seat moves. I don’t look but I know that
behind me, Michael Benitez is angling to get money out of his pocket to pay the
driver. What am I doing here with him? This man crushed me. This is my chance
to run! I can escape. Now’s my chance.

I hurl myself out of the car and start
running for the subway, fast.

“Nic!” Michael leaps out and runs after me,
our feet thumping hard on the sidewalk. He catches up with me quickly, turns me
around. I fight him, but he holds me strong. He searches my eyes, his own
filled with hurt. “Stop it. What are you doing?”

I’m panting and trying to free myself,
that’s what I’m doing. But all I say is, “I have to go!” as I look everywhere,
except at him.

“Stop. Please look at me, Nic! Look at me!”

“NO! I can’t look at you, Michael! I CAN’T
LOOK AT YOU!”

He wrestles against me. “You’re acting wild!
Stop it!”

“Why?” I spit, anger forcing my eyes to his
as I snarl at him. “Isn’t this what you wanted? You did this!” I yank free and
stare at him, my chest heaving in fury.

He takes a step back and stiffens, shaking
his head slowly. “I didn’t want to harden you.”

My eyes crystallize, chin jutting out
defiantly. “An unexpected side-effect of your good work. God, I just want to….”
I bring my hands up, but he protects himself and grabs them both.

“Woman, you are making me crazy!” he growls
and leans in until our faces are mere inches apart. His eyelashes fall to my
lips then flash back up. His breaths are short, just like mine. The electricity
between us is incendiary madness. My veins pound with desire even as I want to
run. A primitive need to wrap my legs around him takes over my senses.

I hiss at him, “Fucking kiss me already.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice. He smashes
his lips to mine, sending waves of heat all over me. Our tongues lash together,
out for blood. He backs me against a building, brings one of my arms up above
my head and grabs my breast with his free hand. I moan and push my body into
his. He hoarsely whispers my name as his lips work their way down my neck.
Someone whistles loudly from across the street and Michael pushes off me to
look at them sideways like an animal sending a dangerous warning.

“C’mon. We don’t need an audience.” Grabbing
my hand, he rushes us to the studio. He jams his key in the lock and quickly
opens the door. I yank my hand away from his and flash him a look as I pass
him. Tossing my coat and bag on the floor with a thud, I ascend the stairs
first. Instantly the familiar smell hurls itself into my nostrils and I’m taken
back in time. Nervous anxiety pounds blood painfully into my temples. I have to
steady myself as soon as I step into the room. My eyes dart around and I spot a
pack of cigarettes on the table near a predictably half-empty, uncorked bottle
of Syrah. Michael watches me from the top of the stairs as I head toward it.
When I throw a look to him over my shoulder, I can see it plain as day, he
can’t believe I’m really here. I’m having a hard time believing it myself. I
snatch up the cigarette pack, wiggle out a stick and hold it to my lips, turn
and lock onto his mesmerizing eyes.

“Light me.”

He doesn’t know I quit, and doesn’t think to
ask. He strides over and picks up the lighter. Holding my stare, he raises the
flame. I bend down, holding his look and he cups his hand around the fire. The
taste of nicotine is as exactly as I remember it – nasty deliciousness.
Just like Michael. I’d never put the two together before, but I’m doing it now.
Hard not to see the connection. They both give me a deadly buzz, but fuck it.
Who cares? Life is about doing crazy things you’ll remember when you’re old,
right?
Regret is a waste of time,
I
tell myself.
Stop being such a prude. You
have no one to be faithful to. You’re finally going to have sex with the man
you’ve wanted, ever since you met him.
I don’t want to hear the argument
that raises itself in my mind, so I shut it down fast.

Michael takes the cigarette from me and
sucks in a long drag, then puts it out without asking me if I want more. That’s
annoying. He steps away, walking halfway to the easel, but stops. He turns and
looks at me. He gives his head a slow shake from left to right and rakes his
eyes over my whole body from toe to head. There’s that expression again. He
really can’t believe I’m here. He’s about to say something but he stops,
suspended by my look.

My eyelids have fallen half-mast. I’m
thinking all kinds of things about him, talking myself into what we’re about to
do. I’m thinking how he’ll feel inside me. How I can still taste his kiss in my
mouth. How I want to hurt him.

“What are you waiting for?” I purr.

He advances, his shiny long hair blowing
softly with his speed. He thinks he’s coming in for a kiss, but I have other
plans.
Come a little closer, Michael.
That’s right. Just like that.
As soon as he gets close, I reach back and
slap him hard across the face. He reels back, head swinging left. He looks at
me sideways, hand twitching.